


Her Real Name

by raregloves



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin never expected a super-smart, very beautiful, possible spy to be interested in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Real Name

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Do you know Cabin Pressure? (If not, go listen to it right now; I'll wait.) I love the pairing of Anthea from Sherlock with Martin from Cabin Pressure. He deserves to be taken care of, she is good at taking control, but he is good at being tender and gentle in a way that few would think an iron woman like Anthea would want.

These were among the words used by Douglas to describe the woman in Martins life: extraordinary, miraculous, mysterious, enigmatic, dangerous, seductress…  
  
Another phrase Douglas liked was: an international woman of mystery with equally mysterious taste in men.  
  
Martin didn’t mind what Douglas said. He was in such a perpetual state of happiness that Douglas could’ve attached three bananas to his captains hat and he wouldn’t have minded. 

~  
  
Anthea and Martin had met on the job. He’d been flying, she’d been doing… whatever it was she did. He still wasn’t entirely sure. International woman of mystery wasn’t so far from the truth, after all.  
  
It’d been (for all of MJN) a terrifying job. A posh man with a cold voice had paid them triple the usual to fly to a certain lonely runway at very specific coordinates.   
  
There hadn’t been much light. ATC had been close-lipped, ground-crew nearly nonexistent, and nobody had answered any questions. Where exactly were they? No answer. What were they waiting for? No reply.  
  
Carolyn had banned Arthur from leaving the plane. She and Douglas had walked up and down the tiny airport, investigating. Martin had been in the cockpit, just in case… Well. He hadn’t been sure what he’d have done had emergency struck. But he’d felt useful, at least.  
  
Douglas in particular had seemed jumpy, unhappy. He’d muttered something about _concealed guns_ and _easily explained civilian deaths.  
  
_ Then, at last, the silent people had perked up. Walkie-talkies had come to life all at once. Martin had felt sweat gathering in his arm pits. Carolyn had finally bullied somebody into talking to her, and was able to report the source of the excitement: the passenger was arriving.  
  
A black car had emerged out of the unusual gloom. It had windows tinted dark black. The entire airport had gone still and silent. Douglas had hurried to sit beside Martin, his mouth a thin, tense line.  
  
They had both watched Carolyn approach the black car. Arthur had been watching from a window, and had given a highly annoying blow-by-blow commentary of the whole thing.   
  
Carolyn had opened the door. In retrospect, Martin had been expecting a man, probably in sunglasses despite the gloom, holding a gigantic gun. Instead, Anthea had stepped out of the back of the car, in heels and a skirt, glossy dark hair swinging around her shoulders, tapping at a mobile phone.  
  
Arthur had given a low wolf-whistle.  
  
~  
  
‘I don’t give out my number,’ Anthea had said, when Martin had asked for it. He had felt himself blush. Was he doomed to humiliate himself around every attractive female in a ten mile radius? ‘But you can give me yours,’ Anthea had continued. ‘As long as you promise to answer calls from an unknown number.’  
  
‘Oh.’ Martin had wondered how many different shades of red his face had gone in the past few minutes. ‘I promise?’  
  
‘Good,’ Anthea had said.  
  
~  
  
‘Mysterious lady, isn’t she,’ Douglas had mused. ‘I mean… the isolated airports, the bullet-proof car, the phone that she seems physically incapable of putting down… Martin, do you have any idea of what you’re doing?’  
  
‘No, I don’t,’ Martin had said primly. ‘And I don’t want any advice from you, thanks all the same. I doubt you have any more idea of what to do than I do.’  
  
‘But what does she _see_ in you, that’s what I wonder,’ Douglas said, shrugging. ‘I think a lady like that should be with a man like… James Bond. Or at least Indiana Jones.’  
  
‘Well, maybe she prefers brains over brawn,’ Martin said.  
  
‘I don’t think so, somehow,’ Douglas said.  
  
‘Well, you’re just jealous,’ Martin said. ‘I’ve got a date with her Friday and you haven’t.’  
  
~  
  
Anthea liked to cook for him. After she had fucked him with flattering enthusiasm she would clamber out of bed only to return ten minutes later with chocolate pancakes.   
  
She would feed Martin herself, holding the fork up to his lips, and Martin would pinch himself under the covers. Could this be really happening, to him? Could he of all people be relaxed, well-fed, recently fucked and in the company of a naked woman and a warm pancake?   
  
‘You’re miraculous,’ Martin said often, kissing her nose. ‘You are a stunning, and so clever, and you’re mad to be with me, and you’re so impressive. I’ve known. Well, not in the Biblical sense of knowing, but I’ve been acquainted with a number of women. In my life. And you are by far the most impressive.’  
  
Anthea always went a little pink when he spoke like this. Her ears and the tip of her nose went bright, as if lit up by rose-tinted candles.   
  
‘I don’t appreciate being called mad, Martin,’ she’d say. ‘I know what I like.’  
  
‘And what you like is short, skinny, ginger pilots who are too scared to even look at your phone when it rings?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Anthea said. ‘Now, eat your food. I don’t mind skinny, but you’re a little too skinny.’  
  
~  
  
‘Do you know what she does?’ Douglas asked. ‘Or do you just never, ever talk about her work in fear of death?’  
  
‘Well, we have other things to talk about.’ Martin knew he was stalling. ‘Like my work, and moving into a little place together so I’m not in the attic anymore, and she has a cat, so we talk about the cat, and we both like the same music, more or less, and I’m thinking I might introduce her to my family at some point-’  
  
‘But her family?’ Douglas pressed. ‘Does she talk about them, or are they _classified_ too?’  
  
‘I- well-’  
  
Martin realized that Anthea had never spoken about her family to him before. There were no photos in her flat, no funny stories, no weddings or birthday parties…  
  
‘Maybe,’ Douglas said, ‘Anthea isn’t even her real name.’  
  
‘Why,’ Martin snapped, ‘are you so, so keen to ruin the one thing that’s been making me so, so happy? What can you possibly have against her? She has done nothing to you.’  
  
‘Martin. Look. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… attack your girlfriend. I just…’  
  
Douglas had looked deeply uncomfortable. Martin has crossed his arms and straightened his posture, trying to make himself seem tall and demanding.  
  
‘I just worry about you,’ Douglas said, not looking at him. ‘Whatever she’s mixed up in… whatever her job is… I’d like it more if you knew more. That’s all.’  
  
~  
  
Her hours were nearly as irregular as his and they often slept together in total exhaustion. She would lock papers inside the safe beside the bed and Martin would give her a gift from whatever country he’d recently been in.  
  
Anthea was always, always delighted by these gifts. Even the small, cheap ones delighted her. She would sit him down and ask about the flight, about his co-workers, about the passengers, about the scenery.   
  
Martin had never had somebody so interested in his own words, his own perspectives. At first he had stuttered rather a lot, had been sure that her interest was only being polite, that she would recoil once she heard him talk about planes for half an hour.  
  
But she never tired, and his confidence grew.  
  
‘Nobody has ever wanted to listen to me before,’ Martin said. ‘Not for more than half an hour at most.’  
  
‘I enjoy listening to you,’ Anthea said. ‘You have a nice voice. And you’re quite funny, once you stop trying so hard. Plus you say such lovely things.’  
  
‘What if I didn’t say something lovely, one day?’  
  
‘Hm?’  
  
‘What if… Anthea. I don’t know anything about you. And I’m sorry because I know it’s probably secret and I really don’t want you to tell me anything you’re not allowed to tell me and. This isn’t coming out the way I wanted it to. Is Anthea even your real name? I’m just scared one day you won’t come back from wherever you do or. I don’t know. Sorry. I’m sorry.’  
  
Anthea had gone pale. Her eyes, normally bright, were downcast. Martin took her hands in his, already bitterly regretting his words. What was the point of loving a beautiful, genius possible-spy if all you were going to do was ruin it?  
  
‘I’m sorry, Martin,’ Anthea said softly. ‘There are some things I’ll never be able to tell you. Secrecy is a habit. Is essential, honestly. I work for a very powerful person. They’re not… evil. It’s not like in a movie. But I can tell you a few things. Ok? But you’ll have to understand that some things I can’t tell you.’  
  
‘I understand.’  
  
‘What would you like to know?’  
  
~  
  
They lived together, in a flat that Anthea paid for. If Martin were a different sort of man he might’ve felt emasculated, but as it was, well- he felt like a king.   
  
Showers that were always hot, a kitchen that was always full, an amazing person sharing his bed, who sometimes wore his captain hat and nothing else, with her thighs wrapped around his hips.  
  
‘Look at you,’ Anthea said, slapping his arse as she passed him in the kitchen. ‘You’re filling out. Probably couldn’t even count your ribs anymore.’  
  
‘It’s amazing,’ Martin said. ‘I have never had this much energy. You’re a goddess, you realize that? I would, if you asked me to, literally worship at your feet.’  
  
‘Duly noted,’ Anthea smirked. ‘I probably wouldn’t mind.’  
  
Martin abandoned washing the dishes, wrapping his arms around her middle and kissing the side of her neck. Her hair smelt amazing, the softness of her body in his own thinner arms intoxicating.  
  
‘I mean it, you know.’ Martin kissed her again. ‘Anything you want. I adore you.’  
  
‘I adore you too,’ Anthea said. ‘Now take me to bed.’  
  
~  
  
Douglas had just finished his walk-around. The snow was light and dry, Carolyn sleeping, Arthur experimenting with coffee.   
  
‘All good to go,’ Douglas said. ‘And I can see you’re keen to be home. Things… going well, then?’  
  
‘They are,’ Martin smiled. ‘I forgot to mention, before. We’ve talked about her work, about… all that. The secrecy.’  
  
‘Ah, I see,’ Douglas said, sitting down beside him. ‘And is Anthea her real name?’  
  
‘No,’ Martin said. ‘But she told me what is.’ 

‘And?’  
  
‘I’m not telling,’ Martin said. ‘Though you can guess, if you like.’  
  
Douglas frowned. He always had loved a challenge, after all. And it was important to keep Douglas distracted on the flight back. Martin didn’t want him to notice the small box inside his pocket.  
  
After all, she hadn’t said yes yet.

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


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